Tea and Whiskey
by MagikCat
Summary: The day they met they had tea; the day their world changed, they had whiskey. A Tonks & Moody friendship piece.


_Written for the _ _**hp_holidaygen**__ fest! Much thanks to my emergency beta, DS!_

"I take my tea black, so you'll have to do the same."

Dora nodded her thanks as the grizzly old man placed two mugs on the table before her, but did not touch it. Her hands were still shaking too badly.

The man shrugged and sat down across from her with a curiously loud _clunk_. She wished he hadn't—the scars and missing nose chunk was bad enough, but being in direct range of that bright, blue eye was not something she would want on a good day.

"You said your name was Dora?"

She nodded.

"Dora what?"

"Tonks."

His scarred face darkened, sending chills up her spine. "You aren't Andromeda Black's girl, are you?"

"Andromeda _Tonks's_daughter, yes," she replied firmly, crossing her arms. She had been interrogated about her mother before, and she wasn't going to back down just because this man looked like he had had a run in with Freddy Krueger.

As if deciding whether or not to proceed, he stared hard at her for a moment, and it took everything she had to look into that creepy blue eye. Finally, he shrugged again and took a sip of his tea. "Just checking."

Dora wasn't going to let him get the last word, however. "Who are _you_?" she demanded, a bit irritably.

"You usually accept tea from strangers?" There was a definite growl in his voice, as though Dora had somehow offended him.

Her reply was simple. "You helped me."

The old man seemed to consider this for a moment before rolling his eyes. "Thank your fortune that you were close enough for my Sneakoscope to go off. Those pieces of dung are lucky I just turned them into toads for a few minutes—a few years ago I would've done worse for trying to hurt a woman." He nodded with faint approval. "Not that you weren't holding up fine. You seem to know your defensive spells—for a kid, anyway."

Dora allowed herself a small, proud smile at this unexpected praise. "Well, they were only some boys from school who like to give witches a hard time—they're not the brightest bunch of buggers. I have a reputation as a bit of klutz, and they probably weren't expecting the answer they got."

"It's an advantage to be underestimated, lassie." His beady, normal eye glinted, and his mouth made a crooked angle that might have been a smile. "I'm Moody, by the way."

"_Alastor_Moody?"

"Ah." He rolled his eyes. "So you have heard of me?"

"Only in the _Prophet_when you retired. Dad mentioned it to my Mum."

Moody snorted, and then nodded at her tea. "Drink up. It's not poisoned."

Dora looked doubtfully at the cup, wishing it had sugar, and took a sip.

"So . . . what were you doing this early?"

"Jogging."

"_Jogging_? What the hell for?"

"It clears my head."

"No one's head needs clearing this early in the morning," he said irritably. "A word of advice: ten to four at night is the danger zone for travelers. As late as five in the morning at some places. You need _constant vigilance_—otherwise you shouldn't be out before sunrise, let alone for the sake of ruddy _jogging_. And not with your hair looking like pus from a boil, either."

Her mouth dropped in indignation—'pus' indeed! "It does _not_!"

Moody's eyes suddenly widened. "_Hey_now," he said slowly, eyeing her hair with interest. "What is this?"

She moved her eyes up to a strand of hair that had fallen over her face. Lifting it to get a better look, Dora realized it was a violent pink, rather than the neon green she had turned it before her jog. _Damn._She was normally great at controlling her ability, and she hated when her emotions got the best of her.

"A Metamorphmagus, eh?" he asked.

She nodded, concentrating hard to put her hair to its deadbeat brown.

"I haven't seen one of those since I was a kid." Both of his eyes were whizzing in excitement, and even though she wasn't afraid of him—intimidated, perhaps, but not afraid—she was a bit uncomfortable at the intensity of his gaze.

"Can you change other things? Say, your nose?"

Reluctantly, she concentrated hard, and with a small _pop_, a nose like Moody's—without the scarring and the missing chunk—appeared. He raised his eyebrows, and his grin was no better than its frown. "Give me a disguise. If you didn't have to fight those sons of toads, how would you have hid from them?"

Hesitantly, she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, her hair was grayer, her nose more beak-like, and there were wrinkles on her skin.

Moody let out a jubilant, "_Ha_!" and actually slapped his leg.

With another pop, Dora shed her disguise, and rose to her feet. She was not going to be a freak at a circus act—the stupid boys she had jinxed half an hour earlier found that out the hard way. "Well, you found me out," she grumbled. "Can I go home now?"

"Hold your hippogriffs, now!" Moody waved her back to the chair. After a moment, she sat down again, crossing her arms again. "Sorry, got a bit carried away. How old did you say you were?"

"Seventeen."

"You'll be starting your seventh year in a few weeks then."

"Yes."

"Have any career goals?"

"I don't know, actually." Not liking the triumphant glint in his eye, she added, "I'm a good Beater. Maybe I'll try out for the Harpies."

"A _Quidditch player_?" He sounded so outraged she might have said she was going to toss her wand and join a convent.

"Well…I'm not that…that talented at anything else, actually. 'Cept this." She flicked her eyes upward towards her hairline.

Moody leaned forward, all business now but for the excitement in his eyes. "Have you ever considered being an Auror?"

Dora blinked at him for a moment, and let out a burst of laughter. "An _Auror_? Me? You're joking."

"Do I look like I _joke_?" he demanded so touchily she immediately quieted. "I'm serious."

"I'm not smart enough. Just ask Snape about my potions."

"That old bat would make Merlin's mother look bad," he growled with a trace of dislike. "Anyway, having a N.E.W.T. in Potions doesn't make a lick of difference. The thing that saves you is the attitude. You've got nerve, skill with the wand, and a good head on your shoulders. Not to mention your gift…." He glanced at her hair again. "You'd make an ideal Auror."

Dora looked away from him. He was insane—that much was clear now. No one in their right mind would allow themselves to think someone like her would make a good Dark Wizard catcher. She was dead clumsy, and too…what was it Charlie Weasley said? _Perky_. No, she's make an awful Auror.

And yet…crazy or not, even her dad said that old Mad-Eye Moody was brilliant. Surely he knew his stuff?

"Tell you what—send me an owl if you decide to apply. They might have kicked me out the door, but I still can put in a good word for you."

Not knowing what else to say, Dora could only nod.

"C'mon now," Moody said. "Let's get you home."

()()()()

"Sweet Morgana's knickers, Mad-Eye!"

Tonks threw herself belly-down on Moody's threshold as a dust bin came pelting out the door like a bullet, nearly crashing into her head. Angrily, she looked up at the wand pointing directly at her face, held in the hand of her old mentor. He had lost a lot of weight, chunks of his hair were missing, and he looked more crazed than she had ever seen him.

"Did you take sugar with your tea the night we met?" he barked, not lowering his wand.

"What the—?"

"All I need is an answer, lassie! Yes or no?"

Still having no idea what was going on, she cried, "No—you said you didn't have any!"

He stared at her for a long moment, his magical eye scanning down her body as though she were being x-rayed. Finally he nodded. "It's you. Get up, then."

"Not exactly a pleasant welcome, Moody," Tonks muttered crossly, getting to her feet and wiping the dirt off her robes. "Can I come in now or do you want to interrogate me some more?"

"Come in." Once she had, Moody waited for the rubbish bin to float back to the office before closing the door.

"What's all this about, Moody?" Tonks asked.

"Can't be too sure people are who they say they are," he muttered, his eye whizzing nonstop around the house. Tonks tried not to let the worry show on her face. He had always been cautious, even overly distrustful—but this was a whole new level she hadn't seen before.

"Shall I make tea?" she offered slowly.

"For yourself, if you want," he said, and he waved his old hipflask. "I'll stick with this, if you don't mind."

Come to think of it, maybe tea wasn't what either of them needed. "Never mind. Something stronger, then?"

"Stronger? You?"

She rolled her eyes. Honestly, how old did he think she was? Seventeen? "Got any whisky? Muggle or Ogden's—doesn't matter."

Moody smiled for the first time in what must have been ages. "Always said you had nerve." He Summoned two glasses and a bottle.

"I hear you had a bit of a rough time of it this year," Tonks said casually.

He paused in the process of pouring. "Did you?" he asked, a tad suspiciously.

"It was all over the _Prophet_. They said you were locked in a trunk all year."

"Bloody newspaper," he growled, handing her a glass. "Can't scratch my arse without someone reporting about it."

Her eyes went wide. "It's true, then? No wonder you're so . . . twitchy. I would be too."

"Ask me when I've read the article myself."

"But you were being held hostage? By Barty Crouch's son?"

"Yep." His face grew so dark that it was almost frightening.

However, she had come here with questions and she was determined to get answers. "That's why you never replied to any of the letters I sent you, then."

His scowl suddenly became a stare of surprise. "You sent me letters?"

"That's what friends do," she said firmly. "I wondered why you didn't reply. I expected a 'Piss off, I'm busy,' at the very least."

"And you didn't think to report it?" he demanded in outrage.

"Moody, you were teaching—what—five-hundred students?" she retorted defensively. "I thought you were busy. If my Mum had sent the M.L.E. to Hogwarts every time I didn't answer a letter they would've had a bloody guard to tail me just to shut her up."

He snorted, and downed the rest of his drink.

Tonks watched him pour some more whisky in his glass, and kept quiet for a few minutes. Four years of knowing Mad-Eye had taught her it was best to let him come back down from his moment of cantankerousness before speaking again.

Finally she said cautiously, "The _Prophet_is also reporting . . . other things."

"Like what?"

"What Dumbledore's saying about You-Know-Who. Just a blurb, mind you. They haven't said anything about it since."

Moody, for the first time she could remember, purposely ignored her attempt to catch his gaze. "And?"

"Well . . . is it true? That he's back and that he killed Cedric Diggory? And that Harry Potter saw all of it?"

"What do _you_think?"

Tonks had hoped to get some facts before she had to make that decision, but as usual Moody wasn't going to do things her way. "Well…it depends," she replied after a moment.

"On what?

"Why did Barty Crouch's son lock you in a trunk for nine months?"

He made a movement with his mouth as though chewing his tongue, and then he looked at her. "Because You-Know-Who told him to."

Tonks had seen him at his most paranoid, and his most furious. But this was neither. She had known him long enough to know this was not a paranoid delusion. Something had happen—this was _real_to him.

"Dumbledore's not an idiot, either," she said slowly. "He wouldn't be saying it unless he knew it was the truth."

"No," Moody agreed. "He wouldn't."

The thought of what it all meant frightened her more than anything in the world. She had been too young to remember His reign of terror, but she had heard stories. Enough stories to want to hand over everything so that it wasn't true.

But she trusted Moody, mad as he was. She hadn't seen Harry Potter since her seventh year, but everyone said he was nice and down to earth—not the type to stir up terror just for kicks. And Dumbledore believed him, and she trusted Dumbledore. So it _had_to be.

"Merlin's beard," she said weakly.

"Have some more whisky," Moody offered, chuckling humorlessly.

Tonks accepted it, and downing it from the bottle faster than she should have. "Thanks," she murmured.

"You're taking it rather well," he observed.

"I'm in shock."

"You'll get yourself out of it soon enough." Moody paused, looking determinedly at his glass. "You're a smart girl, Dora. It's good to have you on our side."

Even with her world shaken, she couldn't help but tease him. "Why Moody—I think you've gone _soft_."

He snorted again. "Not likely."

She chuckled. "And I go by Tonks now, by the way."

"Fine. Tonks then." He suddenly leaned forward, his demeanor now business-like. "Well, if you're done mourning your innocence, there's work to be done."

She started. "What?"

"We're fighting against him—just like we did in the old days. We're going to need Aurors, if you want to join up."

Started though she was by the sudden shift in conversation, she nodded without hesitation. "You think after what he did to you and Cedric and Harry Potter that I'm going to sit by and watch? Count me in."

Moody's smile was something Tonks had never seen before—it was almost fond. "Alright then. It's a bit of a secret, actually. Something Dumbledore calls the Order of the Phoenix…."


End file.
